


From Ember To Ashes

by iezzern



Series: His Shadow'verse [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Love, Child Abuse, Coming of Age, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26409517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iezzern/pseuds/iezzern
Summary: Lucien loves his brothers more than anything. He can't imagine ever hating them. Or them hating him. Nothing could make that happen. He's wrong.(A story cataloguing Lucien and his brothers through the years, and Beron's role in their relationship)
Relationships: Tamlin (ACoTaR)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: His Shadow'verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919506
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say...I was writing another fic from this universe involving Lucien and Helion and then this happened. In about one day. Enjoy.
> 
> Can be read as a stand-alone, but things will definitely make more sense if you've read The Warrior and His Shadow.
> 
> (If there are any tags you think should be added please mention it to me)  
> P. S Here are their ages at the start
> 
> Eris - 120  
> Robyn & Korren - 82  
> Joash - 49  
> Neri - 17  
> Rennari - 15  
> Lucien - 12

Lucien tugs at his collar, the material itching unbelievably.

Father has dragged him and his brothers to the Spring Court for a political meeting disguised as a ball. They’ll be staying for a day, and Lucien is dreading it more than he dreads his tutoring sessions.

With his meek 12 years, he’s the youngest fae that’ll be there. And, as grown-ups do, they’ll all fawn over and coo at him without end. And then they’ll comment on how _many_ there are of them, how Beron surely has been _busy_ , and how they all have that sweet _look_ about them. Lucien has to smile his way through the cheek pinches and then go whining to Eris until his brother lets him rest on his hip.

Lucien reaches up to adjust the shirt again, but Rennari’s hand slaps down over his. “Stop acting like that, you’re embarrassing us,” he hisses, but still rubs a soothing hand where Lucien’s skin had reddened. Rennari is always quick to anger, but even quicker to apologize seconds later. Father doesn’t appreciate the second part.

“The shirt’s itchy,” Lucien whines, bouncing on the tip of his toes. It’s hot in the Spring Court—disgustingly so. There’s a certain kind of oppressive heat here that makes it harder to breathe. “Everything we wear is itchy for you, Little Lucie,” Joash laughs from where he’s helping an embarrassed Neri with his cufflinks, “Get used to it”

Lucien flushes and blows his cheeks out at the nickname but stays otherwise silent. He sneaks over to Korren’s side and grabs onto his hand. “Hi,” he mutters, looking up with the biggest doe-eyes he can manage. “Hi yourself,” Korren says, amusement drawn in his smile. Lucien stays silent for a while, swinging his and Korren’s hands back and forth. Korren’s smile widens with each second.

“Could I _please, please_ get a different shirt?” Lucien asks, up on his toes again, tugging at his brother’s hand. This never works on either Eris or Robyn, but Korren always goes weak for it. Korren sighs and glances a little distance away, where the two others are standing with Father, talking. “I don’t know, Lucie,” he says, something closed off in his voice, “It’s just a few hours, you’ll be fine”

“But _Korreeeeeeeeeeen_ ,” Lucien whines as loudly as he can, drawing Father’s attention—and, by default, also draws the two eldest brothers’ attention. Korren curses under his breath and squats down. He holds both of Lucien’s hands in his own. Over his shoulder, Lucien can see Father approaching, annoyed.

“If you shut up about it, I’ll give you all my dessert for a month, and we’ll loosen the collar a bit” Korren promises, and Lucien lights up. Yesterday, Lucien had torn down some painting while playing in the hallways and Father had taken away his dessert privileges for a month. “Deal,” Lucien says and throws himself around Korren’s neck, “Oh, thank you, thank you, _thank you_ ”

Korren grunts with the impact, but his arms still end up coming around Lucien in a soft hold. “What is going on?” Father says from where he stands right behind Korren. “Nothing,” Korren quickly lies, “Just Little Lucie getting impatient”

Joash snorts but keeps his mouth shut.

“You fucked up my cuffs, Jo,” Neri complains, yanking at them. Joash sticks his tongue out. “No, I didn’t,” he says, “You just have abhorrent fashion sense”

“No, I _don’t_ ”

“Yes, you _do_ ”

“Don’t”

“Do”

“Don’t”

“Do”

“ _Boys_ ”

Both of them fall unnervingly silent at Father’s stern tone. Father walks briskly over and holds his hand out in demand for Neri’s. Hesitantly, Neri obeys. Father inspects them just as briskly as he walked. “They’re fine,” he finally concludes, “Stop whining”

Joash grins wide while Neri’s cheeks redden. The older ones always find it funny to bully the three youngest of them. Joash finds it particularly funny. There’s 32 years between Joash and Neri. Neither Joash nor Neri seems to ever forget it.

Lucien quickly slinks away from Korren’s embrace and glues himself to Neri’s side. “I think they look good on you,” he says. Neri’s frown is quickly replaced by a soft smile. He ruffles Lucien’s shoulder-long strands. “Always the peacemaker, you,” Father says, and it doesn’t sound like a compliment.

Eris is immediately there to whisk Lucien off the ground. “Let’s go greet the Lindenstrengs, eh?” he says, effectively breaking up the tension Father had created, “They have a son about your age”

Lucien nods. “Tamlin”

He’s a year older than Lucien; They’ll most likely suffer through cheek-pinches together.

“I heard he’s quite charming, you’ll get along”

Rennari snorts but doesn’t comment further thanks to Eris’s glare. Eris leads the way out of the cluster of mazes that makes up the gates of Rosehall and towards the main stairs. The Lindenstreng family is standing there waiting for them. Eris slows his walk, lets Father overtake him on purpose. To let Father lead. The people still mingling outside part to make way for them.

The High Lord of Spring has his back straight, his two eldest sons following his example. Tamlin, though, is bouncing on his toes. Eris made a strategic move to pick Lucien up—he won’t run around and embarrass them now.

The Lady of Spring lays her hand on Tamlin’s shoulder and he stills, but he’s still smiling widely. His eyes, though, are fixated on something over Lucien’s shoulder.

“He’s staring at me,” Neri hisses from behind them, “ _Why is he staring at me_?”

“He’s probably enamoured by your _stunningly pretty_ eyes,” Joash says. Robyn snorts and, by the sound of it, punches Neri in the shoulder. Neri grumbles under his breath, but doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t need Father to get even more mad at him. And it’s not like Joash is wrong.

No matter how _handsome_ Lucien and the rest of them are—how strong and muscular—there is one thing Neri is undefeated in. Much to his own annoyance. Neri is undeniably, tragically and endlessly pretty. Many ladies at court had described it as _indescribable_. A phenomenon no thanks to Beron. No doubt he got it from their mother. To top it off, his body just won’t grow beyond its lithe, tiny form. Joash loves to hate him for it. Neri loves to hate himself for it. Lucien doesn’t see why Neri being pretty is embarrassing.

The Lord of Spring reaches out to shake Father’s hand and Father grabs it. Their hold on each other looks uncomfortable and forced. So do their smiles.

“Brought the entire pack, did you?” Lord Spring jests, eyes fleeting over them—He probably doesn’t even remember their names. Father’s smile turns even more uncomfortable. “Of course,” he just says; leaves Lord Spring hanging. Robyn grins wickedly where he stands by Eris.

Lucien leans into Eris’s warmth, is embarrassed for the other male, wishes Father didn’t do this every time. “Why don’t we go inside and let the children get to know each other a little?” Lord Spring suggests, saving himself from embarrassment.

Eris goes to put down Lucien, and Lucien wonders where the line for child goes when Father signals for Robyn and Korren to stay behind. They’re 82 years of age this summer. A few years from officially being counted as adults. It grates them, but most likely it’s just Father not trusting them with sensitive information yet. To their apparent relief, all three of Lord Spring’s children stay behind, too.

Lucien drifts towards Robyn now that Eris is gone, curls into his thigh. Tamlin seems intense. He also hasn’t stopped staring at Neri. Neri knows it too and is clearly uncomfortable, shifting his standing and eyes flitting everywhere but the thirteen-year-old.

The older ones go to greet each other, and Lucien goes with Robyn’s thigh, clinging. He can hear ladies cooing at him, so he must be doing something right.

The oldest Spring son, Wilde, bends down and, big surprise, pinches Lucien’s cheek far more roughly than necessary. “Look at you,” he laughs, “What a sweet.”

He turns to his youngest brother, “Tamlin!”

The boy gets yanked out of his incessant staring at Neri, eyes fleeting over to Lucien. Wilde points to Lucien with a grin. “They’ve brought you a friend,” he says, jovial. Lucien groans in his head. What hellhole has Father brought him to?

Tamlin eyes Lucien with contempt. “That’s nice,” he says haughtily. Lucien shrinks even further behind Robyn’s thigh. Robyn’s hand comes down to rest on his head, slightly protective. The second oldest of Spring, Alder, hits the back of Tamlin’s head. “Manners,” he mutters. Lucien is relieved to see that at least one person from Spring knows how to behave in public.

Tamlin doesn’t seem bothered, though, as he gives Lucien a short nod before returning his gaze to Neri. Joash seems amused by Tamlin’s fixation, laughing softly into Neri’s ear. He seems to be encouraging Neri to speak to the younger male. Neri looks to be a mix between mortified and furious. Eventually, though, he steps towards the boy.

“Hello, Tamlin,” he says, withdrawn, and extends a hand. Tamlin grabs it before Neri is even finished speaking—but instead of shaking it, he turns it palm-up and kisses his wrist.

“Hello, you are incredibly pretty—I want to marry you”

Mortification overtakes fury on Neri’s face. He stutters a few seconds before he nearly yells: “ _Excuse me_?”

“Marry me,” Tamlin repeats, “Become my consort”

By Neri’s shoulder, Joash’s mouth is wide open, his eyes filled with laughter. Rennari starts actually laughing. Both Wilde and Alder seem at loss for words, both staring at their younger brother in shock. Lucien is just downright confused.

Neri is beside himself. “Y-You’re _thirteen_ ,” he says, voice high and pitchy. Tamlin blinks. “Then we will wait until I am of age, and then I will marry you”

Neri is blushing bright red at this point. “No, you _won’t_ ,” he says as he tries to yank his hand back, “You’re a child, I won’t _marry_ you.”

Tamlin doesn’t let go, eyes narrowing. “I’ll take care of you,” he says, as if Neri’s being completely unreasonable, “Do not doubt, I’ll be a loving husband”

Rennari has doubled over with laughter at this point, clutching onto Joash’s arm.

“Tamlin…” Alder says hesitantly, laying a hand on his shoulder, “You don’t even know him”

“I do not need to,” Tamlin answers dismissively, “Look at him, he’s absolutely gorgeous”

Neri cringes and places a hand over his mouth, blush growing down to his chest. It seems to be every nightmare of his blended together. Mostly just focused in his stand-out prettiness being brought to the forefront. Even Korren can’t hold himself now, shoulders shaking. Tamlin still hasn’t let go.

A smile starts growing on Lucien’s mouth, too. He’s usually not one to find joy in Neri’s mortification, but Tamlin’s strong resolve compared to Neri’s slight breakdown is just too hilarious.

“ _Tamlin_ ,” Wilde growls, and _there’s_ the High Lord in him, “Let go of him”

Tamlin glances at him, blushing slightly, before he lets go of Neri’s hand. Neri shrinks back, away from Rennari and Joash’s laughing. He’s glaring at Tamlin. “Fucking children,” he hisses. Alder seems desperate to move past it, slides in with a hand around Neri’s shoulder—leads him down to the garden. Lucien can’t hear what he’s saying, but it’s probably something about the flowers. Neri hates flowers. Hates them because everyone always assumes he loves them.

Wilde has his furious eyes fastened on Tamlin and Lucien has seen that look too many times on Father’s face, so he runs up to the other boy and grabs his hand. “Mother said you have ducks here,” he says, manipulates his voice to sound excited, “ _Do you have ducks here_?”

Tamlin seems confused at first, eyes narrowing, and then lights up. “Yes,” he says resolutely, as one would answer to a General, and starts dragging Lucien in the opposite direction of Neri, the older male seemingly forgotten. They leave the others staring after them. Disbelieving.

“Fucking children,” Wilde mutters.

By the end of the day, Lucien and Tamlin are self-proclaimed best friends. They hold hands through their entire trip down to the lakes, talking excitedly about the ducklings that have just hatched. Tamlin helps Lucien tread softly over the fence, hands holding tight onto Lucien’s legs to help him up. When they race down the old country road, Tamlin stops from time to time to let Lucien catch up. They’re sitting close, hip glued to hip, when Robyn comes to collect them.

They both let out the same “awwwwe”’s of disappointment, and Robyn laughs.

“You know that won’t work on me,” he says while ruffling Lucien’s hair, “Korren’s the weakling”

Lucien gets to ride on Robyn’s back all the way back, though, so that’s not entirely true.

-:-

At the evening ball, Lucien is completely exhausted. He spent most of the day climbing and running and playing. He’s not used to that much physical activity. He keeps yawning where he stands by Rennari, sleepily leaning on his brother. He’s young and cute, so he can get away with it. The ladies and lords just spend extra time shaking Rennari’s hand while they coo at him.

It’s worse when dinner starts. The meat is heavy, tiring, to chew. Lucien needs to cut it all up into smaller pieces before he can eat it, and even then he has to swallow down a glass of water with every bite. Neri takes pity on him and eats slower on purpose, smiling slightly.

He stops smiling, though, when Tamlin plops himself down in his mother’s lap, straight across from Neri and starts staring again. Joash chokes on his meat, laughter slipping through. Eris raises an eyebrow but doesn’t reprimand him for it. Neri sighs, perhaps recognizing that he’s not getting rid of the child anytime soon, and starts up a conversation with him. Tamlin, apparently, likes hunting. A lot. Neri does, too. Lucien can’t tell if he hates the fact that they have something in common or not.

Rennari is watching the exchange with unmasked glee and Lucien wonders if Neri is ever going to be spared of his brothers’ need to embarrass him. Both Wilde and Alder are eyeing Tamlin nervously, likely suspecting another marriage outburst, but it doesn’t come. Their conversation lasts through the entire meal, even through the dessert. When Lady Spring, Rhiannon, asks her youngest to dance, Neri’s shoulders relax and he leans back in his chair. “Pour me a drink,” he tells Joash, and the older one does, even when Father throws them a scandalized look.

The moment Lucien escapes the clutches of the formal dinner, he runs over to Korren and curls up against his hip. Korren’s hand comes to rest upon Lucien’s back, fingers rubbing back and forth. The wood is uncomfortable against his hip and ribs, digging in, but it’s pain he’ll endure to stay in Korren’s warmth. Robyn eventually leans over Korren’s lap and starts threading his fingers through Lucien’s hair. The twins stay coddling him for the rest of the night. Even through Neri’s fiery rejection of Tamlin’s offer of a dance.

The next morning, when they leave, Tamlin again kisses Neri’s wrist and this time Lucien’s brother just clenches his teeth and smiles sweetly. There’s murder in his eyes. Eris sighs and rubs his temples when he gets to know why Neri is swearing like a sailor all the way back to the Autumn Court.


	2. The Chapter Where Everything Goes to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, TW for the following things:  
> Implied Rape  
> Homophobia  
> Child Abuse (And generally just a cycle of abuse perpetrated by siblings)  
> Alcoholism  
> Murder
> 
> I think that's all of them, remind me if there's any more...
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

A seventeen-year-old Lucien sprints down the halls of the Forest House, yanking at his cufflinks. He’s late.

There’s another political deal being disguised as a ball. Guests will be staying for days, and Lucien’s late to the reception. He stumbles over a carpet he’s _sure_ wasn’t there before and keeps running down the hall. Guards that he passes all smile and laugh fondly. Father won’t smile and laugh fondly.

Finally, _finally_ , he makes it, leaping up the last few steps to fall in line. Rennari snickers at Lucien’s red face and his heaving chest. “Apologies, Father,” Lucien manages to get out, flinching at his own voice. He’s not young and cute anymore; he doesn’t get away with things anymore. Father huffs but seems satisfied.

Lucien glances over at his brothers. Rennari’s shirt is done up messily — _drunkenly_ , a mean voice in Lucien’s head whispers—but he’s otherwise presentable. Nobody’s bothered to help him with it, because Rennari’s usually mean without the regret nowadays. The twins look good, as usual, their postures almost as straight as Eris’s. Neri has let his fringe grow, a single, large curl tumbling down over his left temple. According to Helion of the Day Court, it just makes him _even sweeter_. Neri likes looking sweet nowadays. Much to Beron’s displeasure—much to the pleasure of emissaries and lords with… _preferences_.

Lord Spring and his sons are the first to arrive. Lucien barely recognizes Tamlin. He’s grown basically in every aspect and, when staring at him, it’s difficult to remember that the other male is just eighteen. Tamlin’s eyes go straight to Neri again, and this time he smirks. “Doesn’t seem like your little admirer has forgotten you,” Joash says. Rennari chuckles. Neri flushes bright red.

Lord Spring and Father shake hands again, even more uncomfortable now than last time. Lucien nearly rolls his eyes but restrains himself. Tamlin comes over to Lucien, shakes his hand and kisses his cheek. “I hope you have something other than ducks here,” he says, his voice having dropped through the floor in five years. Lucien chuckles, knocking their shoulders together. It wasn’t even that funny, but Lucien is nothing if not a diplomat.

And then Tamlin’s attention is turned to Neri’s red cheeks. “Hello,” he says, voice falling even deeper. Neri tenses, but not in anger this time. Joash raises an eyebrow at the way Neri bites the inside of his cheek. Tamlin makes his way over, and Lucien can see Neri silently panicking. Tamlin, again, without fail, grabs Neri’s hand and kisses his wrist. “Offer still stands,” he says, his tone so seductive that Lucien fails to quench the roll of his eyes. Neri swallows, eyes flitting between where Tamlin’s holding him and his lips.

Lord Spring stares at Neri’s wrist as if it offended his mother. if the rumours are to be believed, Lord Anghorod has been leading his Court in a more… _outdated_ direction than his father. Father is glancing at Neri with narrowed eyes, confused. The twins had made the executive decision to not mention _the incident_ to the adults, not needing Neri’s embarrassment to extend. Lucien thinks both Neri and Tamlin are lucky for it now. Tamlin drops Neri’s hand but doesn’t move away from him. Stands there with a grin.

Neri takes a few seconds to gather himself before he gets out a faltering “Would you like to see the gardens?”

Neri hates these gardens.

Tamlin grins and extends his elbow, even if it’s Neri that’s going to be leading them. quite the gentleman. Neri grabs onto him with a breathy sigh and they leave together, the High Lords’ stares burning into their backs. Joash looks halfway between vomiting and laughing. The frozen moment dissipates within seconds.

Father extends his hand, gesturing to the back halls. “Shall we take leave, Anghorod?” he asks, an obviously pained and fake smile on his lips. The twins get to join this time, much to their own joy. The oldest from Spring, Wilde, also joins—a jovial bounce in his steps. Lucien desperately wants him to trip.

“How long until they fuck, do you think?”

Every eye turns to Joash, who is staring at the gate Tamlin and Neri disappeared through. Alder sputters, reddening in anger. “ _What the hell are you suggesting_?” he hisses. _Ah,_ rumours about Anghorod _are_ to be believed, then. Lucien doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Joash grins uncertainly, not sure how to respond now that his teasing has been taken seriously. “Just a joke,” he mutters while throwing his hands up in defeat. Alder doesn’t look like he believes it—glare trained on Joash.

Rennari sighs and loosens his collar. “Calm your powdered ass down, Spring,” he slurs, and Lucien only just now realizes _how_ drunk he is, “Nothin’ wrong with little TamTam getting his dick wet”

Alder’s first punch almost knocks Rennari to the floor.

They’re both bleeding and yelling bloody murder before Lucien and Joash can tear them away from each other. Noise comes from the halls—no doubt Father and Lord Spring wanting to know what is happening. Lucien grabs tightly onto Rennari’s hand and drags him away, through the halls and into Lucien’s own chambers.

He shoves Rennari down on the bed, fills a bucket with water and pushes it into Rennari’s hands. “Sober up,” he says and goes to lace up Rennari’s shirt _properly_. Rennari sits still for a moment, staring at his own bruised knuckles, before he tips his head back and starts drinking. Lucien breathes a sigh of relief.

When he’s done with the laces, he takes the bucket from Rennari (almost empty, he notes) and starts bandaging his hands. “I’m a fucking disgrace,” Rennari mutters, leaning his chin on the top of Lucien’s head. “No, you’re not,” Lucien answers without hesitation.

“Father says so.”

“Well, Father can be wrong sometimes.”

“Not in this.”

“You’re drunk.”

“ _Yes_ , that’s the fucking issue, _Little_ _Lucien._ ”

It’s not an endearment anymore, at least not to Joash and Eris. Lucien doesn’t know what it means to Rennari now. He wants to ask. He swallows down his words and wipes some blood from the edge of Rennari’s mouth.

“The only thing I’m good at is _killing_ and _hurting_ things—I’m a fucking disgraceful _drunk_ , who’s never done _anything_ of note and I’m going to die a fucking _disappointment._ Father’s always been right about me. I’m never going to be High Lord. I’m never going to be important. It would be better if I just died, you’d spare yourself the embarrassment of me then.”

Lucien sighs; pretends he can’t feel the lump in his throat and forces himself to forget the older brother he had five years ago. “You’ll find your way,” he says softly. Rennari sneers.

“Don’t start that shit now. Get out.”

“I’m not leaving you like this.”

“ _Fuck off,_ you little shit.”

“Ren…”

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE BEFORE I KILL YOU, YOU—”

“I think that’s enough from you,” Eris says as he slams the door close behind him. Both Rennari and Lucien jump at the intrusion, withdrawing from each other. Eris’ eyes are filled with cold rage.

“Eris…” Lucien starts, hands wrapping around his own waist.

“Leave us, _Little_ Lucien,” Eris says as he marches over to Rennari and grabs him by the neck, “I’m sure you have some whore down in town to attend to”

Lucien’s cheeks warm with both embarrassment and rage. “I’m not leaving,” he says, mostly to spite, but also because of the way Rennari has withdrawn from them—head bowed.

Eris eyes Lucien for a moment, but then sighs and proceeds to slap Rennari across the cheek as hard as he can.

“ _Eris_!” Lucien cries and grabs onto him, horrified. Eris shakes him off, annoyed. “He needs to learn his lesson,” he says, sounding so much like Father that Lucien shudders.

“Yes, but not like _this_ ”

“He just got into a fight with a son of Spring and now _Father_ has to clean up his mess! Maybe _someone_ —” Eris throws a glare at the someone, who is clutching his bruised cheek “—should learn how to hold his fucking alcohol if he’s going to drink it every hour of the day”

“Eris, _stop it_ ,” Lucien is close to tears now, tugging at his brother’s sleeve.

“I’ll stop it when he learns how to _fucking behave_ —”

“He’s not going to learn if you keep acting like that,” Lucien breathes, fingers digging into Eris’ wrist. He knows that he’ll look like a mess now, and that it makes him seem so much younger. He always got what he wanted when he was younger. He can pinpoint the moment Eris melts. The moment Father isn’t in control of him anymore. He tilts his head and closes his eyes. Rennari, of course, has to ruin it.

“I don’t need your goddamn help, you’re not even my _real_ …”

“ _Rennari Vanserra, you shut your worthless mouth_.”

Lucien has never heard Eris yell this loudly before. Rennari flinches back and falls of the bed in the process; Lucien lets go of Eris, steps back a little. He’s lost them both now and can only helplessly watch.

“Now you listen to me. You’ll get yourself sober, you’ll go outside, and you’ll act as apologetic as you _fucking_ can. I don’t care if you have to _suck his fucking cock_ , you make him forgive your pathetic little ass—”

Lucien can’t stand it anymore. “You sound like Father,” he says quietly.

Eris recoils, voice wavering away completely, as if Lucien is the one who has slapped _him_. He stares, shocked, at Lucien.

Rennari laughs obnoxiously. “Little Lucie is finally learning his insults, huh?”

Lucien knocks his shoulder into Eris’ as he goes to leave. He leaves them there, Eris staring after him, expression unreadable.

-:-

Neri and Tamlin don’t make it for dinner.

Lord Anghorod theorizes they’ve gone hunting. Lucien, unfortunately, knows the truth because he met Tamlin in the hallway, with red lines down his back. He’d gone to collect some refreshments and was on his way back. _To fuck your brother_ , that mean voice in Lucien’s head whispers. Father has also guessed the truth, by his sour face. He keeps whispering to his most trusted general, Ruth, and it makes Lucien nervous.

By the time the drinking has started, Tamlin and Neri finally make their entrance. It’s so obvious. Not even Lord Anghorod can miss it. Neri is limping only slightly, a satisfied glow over his face. Tamlin looks as smug as one can be, one hand curled over Neri’s shoulder. Lucien watches as Lord Anghorod’s face turns an incredible shade of red.

Rennari pours himself a full glass of wine. Eris doesn’t even try to stop him.

“Tamlin. A word.”

Lord Anghorod’s voice is as filled with anger as one can be. Tamlin freezes and every. Single. One. of the boys flinch. They all know. Know that tone. That look. Know what comes after.

Lord Anghorod and Tamlin leave together, and Lucien runs off to spy on them. Father’s orders. Rennari has just finished his glass as he leaves and stretches to pour himself another. Robyn throws him a half-hearted comment. Nobody does anything more than that.

Lucien finds a large enough bush to hide behind, hands shaking.

“…We don’t enact in that kind of degeneracy anymore, Tamlin”

“It’s not _degeneracy_ , Father, it’s _never_ been—”

“Don’t tell me you’ve taken up your grandfather’s daft ideas.”

“They’re not _daft_ , in fact, they’re very good. There’s so much more he should’ve been allowed to do before he died. Build out for the lesser fae; getting rid of the tithe; shed off the Night Court’s influenc—”

A sharp sound; a slap.

“That’s quite enough.”

The real reason Tamlin’s grandfather couldn’t enact on those ideas is because Anghorod murdered him before he had the chance. Some people know it. Obviously not Tamlin.

The boy’s gone completely silent. A special kind of silent. Muted. Absence of sound.

“Tradition is important, Tamlin. Without it we stumble in the dark. Without it, our Court will crumble. I will strike down heavily on anyone who neglects that fact. Remember that the next time you try to… _entertain_ yourself in such ways. Am I understood?”

Tamlin is quiet.

Another slap.

“ _Am. I. Understood_?”

“Yes, Father”

Tamlin doesn’t return for the party. Neri keeps glancing around nervously. Hopefully. It makes the inside of Lucien’s chest hurt. Rennari pours himself another glass of wine.

The next day, when they leave, something horrible happens, and it’ll haunt Lucien for the rest of his miserable life.

Lucien runs into Father’s most trusted general, exiting Neri’s chambers. He’s grinning in that cruel way of his, a certain shine in his eyes. Neri emerges a few minutes later, Lucien knows because he waited for him, and Lucien’s breath catches in his throat. He’s limping far more heavily. There are bruises all over his arms. His lips look bruised. Used. He has an empty look in his eyes, as if he’s imagining a place far away. Lucien almost vomits. He wishes he now didn’t know what Father was instructing Ruth to do last night.

Lucien tries to lighten him up the entire trip to the dining hall. He doesn’t succeed. Robyn growls when he sees them, eyes trained on Neri’s bruises. Just like Lucien, he guesses exactly what has happened. “Who?” he asks, voice dangerous and low. Neri shakes his head, eyes down.

“It wasn’t that Spring brat, was it?”

“ _No_ ”

“Then who?”

“It’s not important”

“ _Who_?”

They’ve caught Joash’s attention now. He gives Neri a once over and plainly asks. “Who am I murdering?”

Neri has never looked more uncomfortable. “It’s not important,” he mutters, fingers scratching roughly over his own wrist.

Lucien wants to spare him the embarrassment. “Commander Ruth,” he says quickly. Neri’s betrayed eyes land on Lucien and a sob escapes his lips.

Robyn is off within seconds, Joash hot on his heels.

Lucien is left to care for Neri.

Two hours later, Father storms into Lucien’s chambers, where he has Neri resting on his bed. “I hope you’re happy with yourself,” he sneers to Neri. He then turns and leaves again. Lucien is left baffled. There was blood on Father’s hands—up to his elbows.

It takes Robyn two months to recover fully from Father’s beating. For Joash, it takes three.

When general Ruth enters Neri’s bedchambers again, nobody tries to stop him.

Nobody tries ever again.

Lucien sometimes thinks he can hear Neri scream in the night. He has to cover his ears. Or flee to Eris’ bed. Eris has started letting him now, without protest. Sometimes Lucien cries. Sometimes Eris cries.

Neri stops showing up to breakfast. The only times they see him, he’s placed neatly in general Ruth’s lap. He doesn’t like or dislike anything anymore. He doesn’t joke around with the rest of them anymore. He doesn’t do _anything_ anymore. He doesn’t coax Rennari out of his drunken stupors, nor does he soften Joash out of his violent rages. His eyes are empty; haunting. Lucien hates it.

Rennari drinks at breakfast now. And at dinner. And at supper. Lucien is the only one who bothers to even clean him up when he ends up in a puddle of his own vomit and piss. Joash becomes Father’s right-hand man, and if he can’t keep a strong stomach through torture, Father gives him another beating. There’s a scar left from the first one; a scar going over his left eye.

The twins leave trails of blood and hurt everywhere. Robyn’s wrist never set right after Father’s beating. Korren has always been empathic. Felt Robyn’s pain with him. Lucien is at fault for telling Robyn about Ruth. Lucien doesn’t get hugs from them anymore.

Lucien is the only one Tamlin is allowed to keep in contact with. And Tamlin is the only person that can bring warmth to Lucien’s heart anymore. But he’s more reserved. Isn’t so quick to challenge Anghorod. After some time, he doesn’t challenge him at all. But he can still bring that warmth forth—still has that sweet naivete and belief in a better world—so Lucien doesn’t stop talking to him.

Some years go by. Tamlin gets a new friend and then loses both him and his family. Lucien tries to be there for him. Comfort him. It’s difficult, but he thinks he manages. Tamlin retreats more and more into Anghorod’s old values—some strange way of holding him in respect. Lucien watches it happen with a breaking heart.

Then Jesminda happens. And Lucien loves her. Loves her loves her loves her. A spot of light in a sickened swamp of hatred. She has long, curly hair; bright, laughing eyes; a lovely smile. He falls in love quickly and helplessly.

Father finds out.

Father orders her to be executed.

Lucien screams without end when Robyn and Korren hold him down and makes him watch how Joash tears her apart—piece by piece. Poor Jesminda curses Lucien out the whole time. Curses out her time with him. The love they shared. Lucien doesn’t blame her. Could never. Not for this.

And then he has to run. Run from the men who basically raised him. Who loved him. Whom he worshiped. Neri didn’t give chase, he was too lifeless. Rennari didn’t give chase, either, he was too drunk.

Lucien has set course for the Spring Court. Because Tamlin is the only one who can bring warmth to him anymore.

He runs and runs and runs. Till his feet are bloodied and his hands bruised. Till his lungs burn and his throat aches. Till he can hear his brothers’ jeering only a few meters away. He starts sobbing then, arms stretching towards the green hills of the Spring Court.

A great, grey wolf-beast is there. Waiting for him.

Lucien feels Robyn’s fingertips brush against his back and that is when the wolf— _Tamlin_ —howls and throws himself forward, tearing into Robyn’s hand with his teeth. Lucien stumbles forward, landing safely behind Tamlin as the male does something to Robyn that makes a sick sound echo in Lucien’s head.

Korren throws himself towards Lucien and Lucien doesn’t _want to be here_. He wants to be safe in Korren’s arms, hugged tight. He wants to be cuddled up to Robyn’s side, sleeping softly. He wants everything to be _right_ again. But it can’t be. He knows it can’t. So he raises his sword and meets Korren.

Korren dies clutching Lucien, tears leaking from his eyes. All fight had gone out of him after Tamlin had ripped Robyn’s throat out. “I—I…” Korren whimpers, finger stroking down Lucien’s cheek, “Little Lucie, I—I…”

It’s not an insult this time.

Lucien leans their foreheads together, weeping. “Don’t leave me,” he whimpers. For the first time, Korren doesn’t oblige. He dies pressing a kiss to Lucien’s forehead.

When he catches Joash’s eye, Joash who had been told to stay out of it by the twins because he’s their _little brother_ , there is only hatred. Blind rage and hatred. “I’ll kill you for this,” he promises, “I’ll kill you”

Then he’s off; Retreating into the Autumn woods again. To report to Father. Lucien doubles over and vomits. Tamlin is there to hold his hair back.

Lucien doesn’t stop weeping for several days.


	3. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set just after the war between Prythian and Hybern happened. 
> 
> (Here it's pretty useful to have read The Warrior and his Shadow)

Lucien nearly collapses to his knees, Illyrian leathers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Around him, the battlefield is messy. Corpses and living strewn around randomly. Lucien doesn’t know what to do. Who to help. He just wants to find Rhys and Feyre, make sure they’re okay and then fall into bed with them to sleep for days.

The King of Hybern is dead. That is undebatable. They’ve won. Lucien almost weeps with it. He doubles over, breathing heavily. Air won’t flow properly into his lungs. Won’t function.

A hand lands on the back of his neck. Familiar.

Lucien glances up to find Eris standing there. “What do you want?” he asks, and only now he hears how utterly hoarse his voice is. Eris shakes his head and kneels by Lucien’s side. There’s a kiss against Lucien’s temple. Lucien doesn’t have the energy to jolt in surprise. “I need your help,” Eris mutters there, hand curling through Lucien’s braided hair, “Father needs to die”

Lucien closes his eyes. Lets the finality of those words sink in. If Beron were to die, the Autumn Court might progress. If Beron were to die, the Vanserras may have a chance of redemption. If Beron were to die, Lucien can sleep without having nightmares again.

Lucien had seen the way all of his brothers had slipped out of Beron’s fingers during the battle. Going on their own adventures. Gathering their own loyalty. Finding their own strength. They’d be remembered as the heroes from the Autumn Court. Not Beron. Even the troops had shifted their loyalty, all thanks to Eris and his careful planning. Not a single one of Beron’s soldiers had even batted an eye when Ruth had gone down with Neri’s dagger through his neck. No one had dared to throw Rennari’s drinking habits in his face. Lucien knows because Azriel’s shadows know. They were their own. Not Beron’s. Lucien desperately wants those brothers back.

He nods.

Eris breathes a sigh of relief before he tugs Lucien closer; into his lap. If any of the soldiers around them notice, they don’t say anything. “Is mother…” Eris doesn’t have it in him to finish that sentence. “She’s fine… She wants to meet you”

Eris nods, muted.

Slowly, he makes them both rise. Lucien throws a glance around the battlefield, sees Tamlin—hesitantly making his way over. Eyes glazed. Lucien hurts. He goes to meet the male, but Eris tugs him back. Won’t let him out of his embrace. “I’ve lost you so many times, I’m not losing you again,” he mutters. Lucien starts weeping.

Tamlin stops a distance away, eyeing Lucien carefully. He opens his mouth a few times, trying to find the words but comes up short. Lucien lets him have time, understands how difficult it is. “There is no apology I can give that is worthy, Lucien,” he settles for, voice stern—prepared for a beating. Lucien has the sudden memory of a little boy suggesting revolutionary ideas to his father.

“There is no excuse, and no solace, I can give but the promise that I want to right my wrongs; The correct way, this time. Maybe…go back a little; return who I once was to you.”

Eris snorts but otherwise leaves the male alone. Lucien closes his eyes—lets the words wash over him in a cascade of relief.

“I’ve always hoped you’d remember your ideals,” he says, as softly as he can. Forgiveness is a tender and fragile thing. And Lucien doesn’t want to fight anymore. There’d always been that small sliver. That tiny hope. And now Tamlin has not only reignited it but set it aflame.

Tamlin smiles. That small, unsure smile that disappeared so many years ago.

“And Feyre?” Eris asks, always the provocative one.

Tamlin tenses, eyes distant. “If Feyre is happy, then I am happy,” he says, that choked-up tone destroying whatever dignity was in those words, “She deserves to recover. Away from me and my destruction”

Lucien nods, not daring to make a comment. Hopes Tamlin’s self-reflection is enough to guide him.

Tamlin’s eyes suddenly go over Lucien’s shoulder and Lucien would almost laugh at the memory it reminds him of. He turns to see a dishevelled, bloody Neri. “Hello, Little Lucien,” he says, emotionless. The pit in Lucien’s stomach that had started to close while in the Night Court reopens. He reaches out, desperate.

Neri lets Lucien hold his hand, turn it over, examine it. There’s a tense line in his shoulders. That dull look still hasn’t left his eyes. Lucien is terrified it never will. “Good move,” Lucien says; Doesn’t clarify which one. Neri already knows. He nods in thanks and for a short moment there’s a satisfied line to his lips.

He glances over at Tamlin—gives him a lifeless smile. “Hello,” he says. His body is unnaturally still. As if Neri doesn’t really know how to move now. Tamlin is silent for a moment. “Offer still stands,” he finally says in a jesting tone Lucien hasn’t heard for years. And, wonderfully and unbelievably, some small sliver of life returns to Neri’s smile. “That’s sweet,” he retorts, teasing.

Lucien buries his nose in Neri’s neck for a moment, feels the male tense under him and he despises the fact that Neri, who loved to cuddle Lucien whenever he could, now can’t stand touch at all. Lucien quickly steps back, smiles a little. Neri doesn’t, probably too exhausted. “I’ll help you organize camps,” he says to Tamlin and motions for the two of them to share path to somewhere else on the battlefield turned emergency encampment.

“He’ll be fine,” Eris says, “We’ll just have to let him become fine at his own pace”

Lucien smiles, and wonders who it was that changed Eris to such a degree. He tilts his head, silently asking. Eris grins and cups Lucien’s cheek, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. The other one goes to Lucien’s braid yet again. Lucien’s not so used to Eris being this affectionate in public. It’s certainly something he can love to get used to—when Beron has finally taken his leave.

Someone clears their throat behind Lucien. Lucien turns to find an Illyrian soldier standing behind him. “The General Commander and his…Shadowsinger need your attention…High Lord,” the soldier says, clearly unsure about High Fae customs. Lucien’s heart jumps up to his throat and he has to try and swallow it down three times. Even with how fresh his friendship with the Illyrians is—they’re basically his pseudo-brothers now.

“How?” he asks, nails digging into his own palms. The Illyrian’s eyes fleet around and his wings rustle behind him. It’s bad. Probably has something to do with their wings. Lucien’s heart beats quicker in an instant. Eris lets go of him without question. “Find me afterwards,” he whispers in Lucien’s ear before he pulls away.

The soldier holds out his arms, an awkward look on his face. “Let’s just get this over with,” he says. Lucien sighs and hopes it won’t result in a kiss this time.

They land a distance away from a large cluster of Illyrians. Lucien doesn’t even have to question where Az and Cass are. He starts making his way over, catches sight of Feyre and Rhys doing the same.

On the way over, someone comes following him and proceeds to collapse against Lucien’s back.

He smells of vomit.

Lucien stretches a hand back; runs it through Rennari’s hair. “Are you sober?” he asks, too tired to remember how loaded that question is. Rennari laughs. “Two whole _motherfucking_ weeks,” he says; halfway self-deprecating.

Lucien hums. “I’m proud of you”

“Don’t lie to me, brat,” Rennari snorts, “Go kiss your lovers, now”

Lucien does.

He sees Joash in the distance, staring. There is too much hurt between the two of them. Joash took Jesminda. Lucien took the twins. It’ll take more than a few words to heal that. Joash gives him a simple nod and then turns away. It’s enough.

Three months later the letter comes. Eris wants Lucien back at the Autumn Court. Beron is dying tonight. Lucien folds it, throws a look at Rhys and Feyre cuddled in the bed behind him, finds his favourite sword, and leaves as softly as he can.

Beron dies swiftly, without as much as a whimper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, TY for reading and enjoying this fic. Please leave comments and kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank You for Reading! Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed!


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